


A Rose For Your Breath

by canadduh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, M/M, Minor Character Death, PBExchangeMasquerade, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21539335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadduh/pseuds/canadduh
Summary: Dean wouldn't be a true Winchester if falling in love didn't literally kill him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 31
Kudos: 206
Collections: Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Masquerade, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Every Rose Has Its Thorns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amethyst Shard (AmethystShard)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystShard/gifts).



> For the PB Exchange: Masquerade. 
> 
> I have a lot of love for this fic and I really hope you enjoy it as well. 
> 
> A huge thank you to [maggiemaybe160](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/) for betaing this fic and becoming as invested as I was!

Dean has known for years that there are angels watching over him. He met them during the fire when they pulled him and Sammy to safety. When he was four, the knowledge of angels making sure he and his family were safe was a comfort, a warm blanket that helped him sleep at night. 

Now, this knowledge digs under his skin and irritates him to the point where not even sleep can calm him down most nights. He feels like he’s never alone, and knowing that someone is watching takes the pleasure out of pleasurable acts. 

It is a universally acknowledged truth (by Dean at least) that all angels are massive dicks. 

Especially the angel that visits him in his dreams. He tells Dean stories, about the creation of Earth, how demons were defeated over and over again, pushed back into Hell by the mighty force of Heaven. He tells Dean that  _ “He has plans for you” _ and then disappears into the gray fog of Dean’s mind, taking a little piece of Dean with him each time. 

*

Dean grows up hunting. He trains with his Dad in the day, spends his nights with Sammy, and they live with Bobby in the summers. They move around a lot, each week to a new motel. Dean prefers it when they find a house cheap enough to rent, no matter how disgusting it is. He wants, more than he wants anything, for Sammy to grow up normal. 

Whatever that might mean with their father hell-bent on revenge. 

*

When Sam turns ten, he starts training with Dean and their Dad. Dean is agitated that he has to run through the basics again with Sammy. But soon he sees that his own aim has improved and he’s not that pissed anymore. 

As soon as they finish a hunt they leave town. With barely any time to pack up as it is, they don’t own much. Sammy still has the teddy bear Dean stole him from a convenience store in Alabama. Dean doesn’t tease him for it… much. Dean has comfort items too, tiny trinkets like the hideous necklace Sammy gave him last Christmas that is a comforting weight upon his chest. 

*

He’s only ever met the angel in his dreams, doesn’t even know his name, but Dean feels like he takes the nameless angel with him every time they move. 

_ “Who are you?” _ Dean asks, every night, just before the angel steps back into the haze.  _ “Why won’t you tell me who you are?”  _

_ “It is not time.”  _

And the angel, a glowing figure, man-shaped but too tall, too ethereal to be human, disappears into the fog of Dean’s dreams 

It’s a comforting ritual. 

*

The summers that they spend at Bobby’s are the best part of Dean’s childhood. He gets to spend three months of the year pretending to be normal. He still trains, Dad would kill him if he didn’t, but he has more time to simply exist. It’s nice. 

“Another date?” Sam teases him, each time Dean goes out. 

Dean says yes, even though he’s just going for a walk around the city. He might watch a movie or head to the library, it’s not that late yet. He hasn’t decided, and not having a plan is a novel experience that Dean cherishes. 

He kisses people in crowded bars and gets kissed by people, too. He gets drunk, then sober again when he pukes it all up only one hour later. He’s got a fake, he’s got a lot of fakes, truthfully, and the charisma to pull it off. 

Dean’s sure that Bobby knows but they don’t discuss it. Bobby only tells him to be safe with alcohol and not to get stupid drunk around strangers, ya idjit. 

Summers never last long, and each time John comes back to pick them up, take them on the road and rid the world of one monster at a time, Dean grows just a little more bitter.

*

He’s twenty-two, finally, when Sammy leaves for college. Dean had always known his brother was stupid smart, hell Dean had taught the kid everything he knew, but it still crushes him to see his brother leave. 

_ “If you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back.”  _

The words echo in his head, even two years later, and Dean wants to punch a wall, the Impala, something.    


He almost wishes his dad were here so that Dean could punch him. 

But no, soon after Sam went to college, Dad split as well. 

He wonders what it was about him that pushes people away?    


He almost visits Sam when his brother turns twenty. He wants to wish his brother a happy birthday, but Dean sees how happy Sam is surrounded by friends at the bar so he leaves before anyone notices him.

*

Dean is twenty-five when he meets James. The man is a mystery, coming out of nowhere and saving the day. Only to disappear shortly after. 

He’d been hunting a werewolf in a small town in Nevada. The single werewolf turned out to be an entire pack and while Dean had held his own, James jumping in and kicking ass had saved Dean’s life. 

“You’re an alright dude,” Dean says when they’re both in the motel and clean. James looks only a couple of years older than Dean. His eyes are a blue that Dean has never seen before and his hair looks like someone tried to make a bird’s nest out of it. Dean finds it weirdly pleasing.

“Thank you, Dean,” James says and his voice flows so well in the space between them that it somehow, almost feels like a promise. 

They part ways early the next morning but Dean has the distinct feeling that he’ll see James again. 

*

Three weeks later, Dean is hunting a Djinn in Colorado. He feels slightly out of depth with this hunt and wishes that he could call someone in. The last time he spoke with Dad, though, they fought. Dean doesn’t think he can handle that again right now. 

So he trudges on alone, searching from warehouse to warehouse with no backup. He knows how stupid he’s being, truly understands it from seeing countless hunters go down this stupid path, but he finds that he doesn’t really care. 

It’s not like anyone is going to look for him. 

He doesn’t realize that the Djinn has caught him until Mary appears in his dream. He and Sam are in the Impala, Dad’s truck right behind him. They’re hunting, of course they are, and Dean is happy to just have his family back together. 

But Mary showing up is wrong so Dean fights back. 

He stabs himself in the gut and opens his eyes to the worried blue of James’s. His heart skips a beat but he ignores it, rationalizes it as lingering fear that stabbing himself might not bring him back to his real, broken, world. 

James helps him stand and guides him out of the warehouse and to the Impala. He follows in his car and at the motel they both clean up and lounge on their beds. It feels so much like a hunt with Sam or his dad that pain lances through his chest and he finds it hard to breathe for a moment. 

They don’t talk, but Dean does turn on the TV and after a few minutes it feels like he’ll be okay. He falls asleep at some point and by the time he wakes up, there’s a cup of coffee and a bag of food on the table and James is gone. 

*

The angel’s visits are less frequent now, but Dean still finds some comfort in them, in the knowledge that as much as things sucked right now, he isn’t alone. Not really. 

_ “Who are you?”  _ Dean asks a few minutes of comfortable silence after the angel’s story about Joan of Arc and her role in the Hundred Years War. The angel shakes his head.  _ “Why won’t you tell me who you are?”  _

_ “It is not time.” _

He wonders if it will ever be time. 

*

Three states and five mutual hunts later, Dean asks James if he wants to make this hunting together shindig they somehow got started on an official partnership. The way Dean figures it, they’re hunting together more often than not these days. And Dean’s gotten injured a lot less since meeting James. 

He tries not to let it show, how much he fears James’ rejection. 

James agrees though, and soon they’re in Dean’s car, (he refuses to give up Baby, now that he’s got her) driving around the country and killing evil sons of bitches. 

It’s almost too easy, how well they work together. The way that James listens when Dean has a suggestion, the way Dean feels protected when James stands at his back in the middle of a fight, and the way it feels more natural than hunting with Dad ever could. 

*

Sometimes, he catches himself staring at men in bars. Men with dark hair and blue eyes, and he has to stop himself. He isn’t like that. James isn’t like that. It’s impossible. 

But still, he wonders. 

*

_ “Who are you? Why won’t you tell me who you are?”  _

When the angel doesn’t respond and instead walks away, Dean feels a piece of himself, the last piece he was hoarding away from the faceless angel, shatter into pieces. 

*

When he wakes up, James is gone. 

Dean’s not sure why, but it hurts worse than Sam walking away. 

Worse than Dad. 

Maybe it’s because he expected James to be better than that. To at least tell Dean what he’d done wrong. Why he deserves to be alone. 

Not that Dean doesn’t know why. 

He’s preparing to leave the motel, has everything packed and is doing a final check, when he notices the note under James’ pillow. 

_ “Dean, _

_ I am sorry for leaving without telling you why. I cannot. I wish, with everything I am, that I could stay by your side.  _

_ My number is in your phone.  _

_ Text if you need me.  _

_ -James”  _

He lets out a breath and pulls his phone out of his pocket. For one horrifying moment, he almost deletes James’ number. 

But he can’t. 

So he sends a text instead. 

*

Dean tries to check in with his dad once a week. Sometimes he’s hunting and can’t respond but he’ll call Dean back when he has the chance. Now, however, it’s been three weeks since anyone has heard from his dad and Dean can feel the worry gnawing at his stomach. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s talking to James still, but the blue-eyed man isn’t available for a hunt. Dean also doesn’t want to pull James into his family drama. 

He waits another week before he packs up the Impala and heads back to Stanford. It’s been two years since he attempted to see Sammy, four years since Sam cut him off, but Dean needs him for this. He doesn’t think he has the guts to do this alone, not anymore. 

It takes him less time than he thought it would find out where Sam lives. He waits until it’s dark. For some reason, he’s too nervous to face his brother in the daylight. Maybe he’s testing Sam, he doesn’t really know anymore. 

The dimly lit apartment is nice, better than anything Dean’s ever lived in, and for a moment he feels weighed down by jealousy. He’s always wanted to live somewhere that he doesn’t have to worry about stains on the sheets or mysterious smells. 

When he hears movement from the hall, Dean grins. He’s itching to see how well Sam’s been keeping with the program, if at all. There’s a moment of surprise when he’s seen how tall Sam has gotten, but he shakes it off and takes Sam down. He’s delighted at how even the tussle is and quickly puts his hands up so he doesn’t get an elbow to the nose. He likes his nose how it is. 

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean says, voice pinched with the weight of Sam’s arms around his neck. What he doesn’t say, though, is how much it hurts that he hasn’t gotten to say those words in four years. 

“Dean,” Sam says, releasing Dean from the headlock. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Well,” Dean hedges, not sure how to explain. Instead, he chooses to deflect. “I was looking for a beer.” 

Sam shifts his weight, crosses his arms, and raises a brow in a way that is painfully familiar. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He repeats. 

“Okay, alright,” Dean concedes. “We gotta talk.” 

“Uh, the phone?” Sam asks like it hadn’t crossed Dean’s mind every day over the last four years. 

“If I had called, would you have picked up?” Dean asks. He knows the answer is no when Sam looks at the ground guiltily. He tries not to let the hurt show. 

“Sam?” A woman asks from behind Dean’s brother. 

He remembers her from Sam’s party. She was sitting right next to him the entire night. 

“Jess.” Sam breathes, looking like his entire world just walked into the room. He puts an arm around her waist and looks back at Dean. “Hey. Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica.” 

“Wait, your brother Dean?” Jess says and it’s like a punch in the gut. 

Sam won’t talk to Dean unless he literally breaks into the man’s apartment, but apparently, he’ll talk about him. 

“Oh, I love the Smurfs,” Dean says, and he kinda hates himself for it. The smile he plasters on his face is flirty and fake but he knows that neither of them will notice. “You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of my brother's league.” 

“Just let me put something on.” 

*

He’s a piece of shit.

Jess is gone and Sam is a disaster and Dean finally feels like something is right in his world. 

It’s him and Sam on the open road, following hints that Dad has left for them. Coordinates sent to a burner phone, notes in his journal, and even a call from a random hunter. 

Until finally, finally, they find John and Dean thinks, only for a moment, that maybe this is his family, back together and better than ever. 

*

**What do you do when someone sells their soul for you?** Sent 12:46 AM 

_ You figure out how to live with that knowledge.  _ Received 12:47 AM 

_ And you live to the best of your ability because it is the only thing you can do.  _ Received 12:47 AM 

_ Are you okay?  _ Received 12:56 AM 

**My Dad is dead.** Sent 12:57 AM 

**I wish I could see you.** Sent 12:58 AM 

_ I’m sorry.  _ Received 1:05 AM

*

It’s been weeks since the angel has visited in his dreams and Dean feels empty. Sleep takes longer to claim him and he wakes up after only a couple hours, soaked in sweat and chest heaving. 

He dreams of the knife in Sam’s back, only sometimes it ends with the light leaving James’ eyes. Sometimes Dean is the one driving the knife deeper. 

Sam knows about the deal, of course he does, but Dean doesn’t tell James. 

He doesn’t want James to know that in one year, Dean won’t be there to answer his messages. In one year, Dean won’t be asking stupid questions at four in the morning when he can’t sleep. 

In one year, James’ life will be easier. 

*

There’s a witch involved and that makes everything worse. The case had seemed simple, at the start, but now Dean’s coughing and coughing and coughing and while it’s not getting worse, it’s also not getting better. 

They know it’s a curse, at least, but they don’t know how to cure it. 

Dean shoots the witch, point-blank, but he’s still coughing. 

*

Rose petals fall from his lips, like blood from a wound, and Dean stares at them in horror. Instinctively, he catches them in his palm. They’re dry, which surprises Dean into letting the petals fall to the ground. 

He coughs again and it feels like thorns are crawling up his throat, which he guesses could be true. Another petal falls to the ground and Dean follows it to his knees, breathing heavily. 

His heart is racing in his chest and panic sits heavy in his stomach. He feels like he’s going to throw up or pass out. 

**Hey, I’m working a case and I was trying to figure out why the vics all reported coughing up rose petals. Any ideas?** Sent 3:45 PM. 

_ It could be Hanahaki Disease.  _ Received 3:51 PM. 

_ But according to my resources, it is not a real disease, so I am not sure what it is.  _ Received 3:52 PM 

**We literally hunt monsters, James.** Sent 3:55 PM 

Panic wells in Dean’s chest and for a second he thinks he’s going to start coughing but the sensation passes. Dean takes a deep breath, then another, and finally stands up, pocketing the phone. 

He buries the petals at the bottom of the garbage and drowns his worries with a shot of whiskey. Dean considers walking to the nearest bar and finding something warmer to bury his troubles in, something attractive and playful, but James replies and soon he’s lost in the conversation. 

* 

According to Bobby, Hanahaki disease is real, but only found in Japan. According to the lore, the victim is so deeply in love with someone that when it goes unrequited, their love manifests as flowers in their lungs.

The only way to cure it, Bobby says, is by having their love returned. 

Dean takes another shot of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slides down his throat. Sam is at the library trying to find a way to save Dean from his deal while Dean is in their motel room trying not to choke on roses. 

There is, however, a medicine you can take, a mixture of herbs and berries, that slows down the process. It gives the victim anywhere from twelve to fourteen months, rather than the five to six they would have without it. 

Dean finds the ingredients in an international market. He makes the medicine. 

He’s got a year left to live and he’s damn well gonna see it through. 

*

**Have you ever wanted to quit the life?** Sent 5:45 PM 

_ Once, a long time ago.  _ Received 5:45 PM 

**How’d that work out for you?** Sent 5:46 PM 

**Stupid question, ignore that.** Sent 5:46 PM 

_ Are you okay?  _ Received 5:49 PM 

**No.** Sent 5:57 PM 

*

_ “Where have you been?”  _ Dean asks when he notices the angel standing beside him. They have no human form, but still, Dean knows who they are.  _ “Why?”  _

_ “It’s time, Dean,”  _ the angel says in a voice that vibrates through his chest.  _ “You know it is.”  _

_ “But I don’t know what that means,”  _ Dean argues, glaring at the angel.  _ “He has plans for you, Dean.”  _ He’s mocking the angel but he doesn’t really care. He’s dying soon anyway, whether it’s the roses that choke him first or the hellhounds tearing him apart only time will tell.  _ “It’s worse than saying ‘God works in mysterious ways.”  _

The angel doesn’t respond but he still stands next to Dean. They look out on the lake Dean loves. He finds peace here and it’s slightly unsettling that the angel doesn’t disturb that peace. Dean almost wishes he would. 

_ “I don’t want to die.”  _

_ “All things have an end.”  _

*

He wonders what it looks like, the rose bush in his lungs. He thinks it might look disturbingly beautiful. Like the way ivy grows on an old building. It creeps up the walls, ever so slowly, so it looks almost like it belongs there. But really, ivy on a building only weakens the walls. 

Like the roses in his lungs are weakening his. 

Twelve to fourteen months is what Bobby said. Dean thinks that he’s not going to get his twelve, with the way his lungs burn with every breath. 

Dean pretends to go to bars more often than not these days. He leaves Sammy behind and finds an abandoned building to shelter away in as he coughs up rose after rose. 

The sight of blood-red roses on the dirt-covered ground is both devastatingly beautiful and horrendously painful. 

It’s a constant reminder that Dean isn’t worth loving. 

*

Sam is pissed at him. Dean knows this, but it’s not like he asked to die a bloody death. 

Dean can barely move his arms, can barely breathe, but somehow it’s worse than he expected. There are claw marks running down his chest, and he can’t breathe because roses are clawing up his throat and spilling onto the ground beside him. 

“What the fuck, Dean,” Sam demands as tears stream down his face. 

Dean can feel himself slipping away. He’s not sure he can respond, as much as it adds to the pain to let Sammy see him die this way. 

The last thing he understands is his phone vibrating in his pocket. James’ response to Dean’s final text. A text Dean will never get to read as death embraces him. 

**I’m sorry. I love you.** Sent 12:14 PM 

_ I’m sorry. I love you, too.  _ Received 7:10 PM


	2. Bed of Roses

Dean wakes up to darkness. Fear tears through his chest as he claws his way, beaten and bloody, to freedom. His hand breaks through the surface of the earth followed swiftly by the rest of his body. 

He expects to find his body tattered beyond repair. But it’s whole. Every scar and scrape and bruise is gone. His body grows cold in fear and he finds himself jogging out of the eerie clearing before the movement fully processes. 

Fear of anything powerful enough to save Dean from Hell propels him forward even as his throat burns from dehydration. He’s clothed, thankfully, but he has nothing else on him, not even his cellphone. 

Hours later, he stumbles on a closed gas station and breaks in. He chugs the first bottle of water he sees, grateful to get the dirt out of his mouth. When he feels like he can breathe again without agony lancing down his throat,, Dean starts getting the things he needs, dumping them into a bag he finds behind the counter. 

Dean feels a stinging on his left shoulder and lifts his sleeve to see a handprint burned into his arm. He hisses at the pain as he lowers his shirt back down and then pushes the nausea he feels at the sight to the back of his mind.

Moments after Dean bites into his fifth granola bar, an intense ringing starts to build in the tiny building. Fear jolts through him again and Dean clutches at his ears as they begin to bleed and the pain sends him to his knees. 

The ringing fades and eventually, once his head stops spinning, Dean gets to his feet. He dusts off, grabs the bag, and makes his way out the door. 

There’s a payphone outside and Dean uses some of the coins he snatched from the register to call Bobby. He’s not surprised when the old hunter immediately hangs up, but Dean really wishes it were that easy. 

*

Dean lifts a hand to knock on the door, hesitates a moment, and then finally knocks. He feels like he’s floating. As though everything that is happening to him is actually happening to someone else. Every time he blinks he feels like he’s going to open his eyes and be back in hell. 

Bobby throws holy water on Dean, nearly kills him, but eventually, they get everything settled. Dean relishes in the solid contact of Bobby’s hug. For the first time since digging himself out of the ground, he feels alive. 

“How the Hell..?” Bobby trails off and Dean winces. 

“I don’t know, Bobby,” his voice is gruff from disuse but it’s his and Dean loves it. “But whatever it was is damn powerful.” 

*

When he gets his phone back from Bobby, James’ number is gone, along with every single text. Dean yells, he screams at Bobby but the man swears up and down that he never went through Dean’s phone. 

He wants nothing more than to tell James that he’s alive. Let him know that, while Dean is a shadow of the man he used to be and doesn’t deserve this second chance, he still loves James. 

*

Dean isn’t surprised when the coughing starts again. He’s driving behind Bobby on the way to visit a psychic, blissfully alone behind Baby’s wheels. Dean is thankful to see Sam again. Beyond grateful. But when it’s just him, Baby, and the open road, Dean feels like he’s almost whole. 

Rose petals lay in his lap after Dean finishes his coughing fit and he frowns, disturbed but not surprised. He’s almost glad that they’re there. Like its concrete proof that Dean is still capable of love. 

* 

“Castiel,” Pamela says and Dean feels a jolt of recognition that he doesn’t understand. A jolt that scares him. “No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy.”

“Castiel?” Dean asks, just to feel the name on his lips. 

“Its name,” Pamela replies, gripping Dean’s arm tighter. “It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back.” 

Dean wants to tell her to stop. To say it’s not worth it now that they have a name. Before he gets the chance, ringing fills the room and Dean slips to the ground, holding his hands over his ears as he closes his eyes tight enough to see stars. Pamela’s scream echoes through his skull long after the ringing fades. 

*

Red petals spill from his lips and into the porcelain sink. He’s grateful for them now. They’re the last thing he has of James, considering he’d never even learned the man’s last name. 

He wants more than he wants anything right now, to be able to text James. To get that reassurance that there’s someone out there, someone who knows Dean down to his core and doesn’t judge. He feels lost right now. 

He coughs again, crushes the petals in his hands, and dumps them in the garbage. When he finally feels like he can face the world again, he leaves the bathroom and goes out to Bobby’s office. Sam is off on a food run and he and Bobby were making plans when Dean had to excuse himself. 

“You still growing a garden in your lungs, boy?” Bobby asks as though the answer isn’t obvious. As though Dean wasn’t constantly on the edge of passing out. 

“Figured I’d open a flower shop if this whole hunting thing doesn’t work out,” Dean replies and then they move on. 

Once they have a plan, Bobby and Dean load up the Impala with the supplies they need. Dean calls Sam, telling him they’re heading out, and they hit the road. 

It's only a few hours to drive to an abandoned barn near where Dean rose from the grave. They unload and Dean has to step out after a few minutes to cough. 

Breathing has quickly become a task that Dean has to actively think about. His lungs refuse to move on their own, contained as they are by the roots of the rosebush. 

He feels anxious, beyond the normal  _ I’m dying and there’s something strong enough to pull  _ me  _ out of hell,  _ anxiousness that he feels would be appropriate for the moment. Dean feels like his legs are going to give out, so he sits on the table before he can embarrass himself in front of Bobby. 

Bobby completes the spell and they wait. They wait even longer and every sound, every breath of wind and shuffle of Bobby’s feet has Dean’s anxiety spiking. 

After what feels like hours the anxiety dips low into disappointment and Dean is about to suggest packing up and finding a new spell when the wind picks up and the loose boards on the old barn start to rattle. 

His heart tries to beat out of his chest and he can’t breathe. 

_ He. Can’t. Breathe.  _

“James?” Dean can barely keep his eyes open, his breaths getting heavier and heavier

The last thing he sees before his eyes fall closed are James’ familiar blue eyes. He feels a wave of warmth through his body even though everything about this is  _ wrong _ . 

*

He wakes up to a sharp pain on his cheek and Bobby calling his name. He wants to tell his pseudo-father to shut up but he can’t get his throat to work. It takes him a moment to get the energy to open his eyes. 

When he does, he finds worried blue eyes staring into his own and he has to fight the urge to throw up. 

“Dean?” Bobby asks gruffly, eyeing the thing—Castiel— nervously. 

Dean sits up quickly, forcing the two men away from him. He wishes he had a gun in his hand because whoever the Hell Castiel is, whatever he is, he fucked with Jimmy and Dean is not going to stand for it. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” the creature responds and Dean rolls his eyes. He can feel the anger— the fear— roiling through his veins and it propels him forward. 

He grabs a knife from the table as he leaps into the things space and drives it into his heart. He wants to throw up when he realizes that this is Jimmy’s body, that he may have just killed his— 

Castiel looks down curiously and pulls the knife from his chest. Dean shares a look with Bobby before glaring back at the creature. Castiel snaps and Dean watches in horror as Bobby falls to the ground.

“What are you?” Dean demands, rushing to the older hunter’s side.

“I am an Angel of the Lord, Dean,” Castiel says. “And we must speak, alone. He is fine.” 

“Angel?” Dean frowns, relieved to find Bobby’s steady pulse. “Glowy dude with a fucking halo ‘n’ shit?” 

“We do not have halos, Dean.” 

No. Fucking. Way. 

Just. 

No. 

“What the hell did you do to James?” 

Castiel gestures down at his body and looks back up sadly. Dean wants to cry. 

“It was always me, Dean.” 

“Fucking—“ 

He feels the moisture running down his cheeks, he can’t stop it. 

“You can’t,” Dean starts, his breath coming in shallow, painful bursts. The roses are pushing against the walls of his lungs. “Get out.” 

“Dean—“ 

“Get the fuck out!” Dean yells, startling the angel. “Go the hell away.” 

Castiel leaves. 

*

“Angels are real?” Sam asks, his eyes wide and hopeful. Dean kinda wishes he could punch his brother right now, but he’s stuck on the couch since moving is way too painful right now. “And you knew?” 

“Yes, and yes,” Dean replies, brows furrowed. He tries to think of a time when he didn’t know angels were real and nothing comes to mind. “They saved us from the fire, Sammy.” 

“I’ve always thought that was you.” 

Dean snorts, “I was four, bitch.” 

“Okay, jerk.” 

Dean lets the silence linger, knowing that Sam needs a moment to process. 

“Now what?” 

“Now nothing,” Dean frowns. “Castiel is gone and if what Bobby says about these other hunters is right, we’ve got bigger fish to worry about.” 

“Bigger fish than Angels?” Sam asks incredulously. 

“Yes, Sam. Bigger fish than angels.” 

*

He’s afraid to sleep now. 

He’s afraid that Castiel might visit him in his dreams. That he’d show up with his stupid blue eyes and his stupid hair and Dean wouldn’t know what to do about it. 

So he stays awake as long as possible, laying on the couch in Bobby’s living room and watching shitty late-night tv. His heavy eyelids keep drooping and his vision blurs, but still, he refuses to sleep. 

*

_ “Dean,” a deep familiar voice says and Dean wants to scream.  _

_ He feels like an idiot, knowing he is dying because he had fallen for a fucking angel.  _

_ “Dean,” Castiel repeats, firmer this time.  _

_ Dean blinks his eyes open and glares at Castiel. He can’t help but flinch away from the sight of the man he’d thought was Jimmy, though. Dean feels like he’s in love with a ghost.  _

_ “Why are you here?” Dean demands, wishing he was awake, wishing he was anywhere but here. “Do you not understand what  _ go away _ means?”  _

_ Castiel shifts, like he’s nervous, like he didn’t lie to Dean for months.  _

_ “Why are you here?” Dean repeats when the angel says nothing.  _

_ “I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says, his expression open and vulnerable in a way that pisses Dean off.  _

_ “You’re sorry,” Dean repeats, his voice flat. “Are you sorry you lied to me? Sorry you used another man’s body and made me think you cared? Are you sorry that this entire time I thought I was in love with a man named James, and it turns out it was actually you? You know what? Fuck you, Castiel. I’m a dead man anyway, I don’t need your apologies.”  _

_ “What do you mean?” Castiel asks after a moment of silence. “What do you mean you’re a dead man?”  _

_ “It means I’m dying, Castiel,” Dean snaps. “I am sick and dying and there is nothing you or anyone else can do to fix it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”  _

_ “Dean,” Castiel says urgently, swaying closer like he wants to move towards Dean. The hunter takes a deliberate step away. “When I pulled you from hell, I cured every illness, every cut, every bruise—”  _

_ “You didn’t heal everything.”  _

_ “Dean, I— Wait… You said you were in love with James, “ Castiel says, connecting the dots faster than Dean thought possible. “Dean, I was James. The whole time, that was me. I wasn’t supposed to be there, not then and not like that. But James, he had cancer, he was dying. But his vessel, his lineage, it’s tied directly to me, I couldn’t wait. So in exchange for helping his family, he gave me permission to use his vessel after he died.”  _

_ “That is some fucked up organ donation program there, Castiel.”  _

_ “Were you in love with me?”  _

_ “Yes, I was,” Dean admits. “Back when I thought you were James, I was in love with you.”  _

_ “Are you in love with me, now?”  _

_ “I don’t know,” Dean says. “It feels like I don’t know you.”  _

* 

Dean wakes up and it feels like nails are digging into his lungs. Sweat runs down his face and into his eyes. He blinks sluggishly to clear them. He coughs and quickly rolls onto his side to throw up. 

There are black spots dancing in his vision as fear races through his veins. This feels nothing like dying the first time. He’s terrified he’ll end up back in Hell like this has all been a fucked-up dream, another way to torture him into submission. 

But at least this time he’s not dying in front of Sam. 

Instead, roses slip from his between lips and paint the ground like blood. He chokes on them as his heart races and darkness starts to creep in. 

“Cas—” Dean tries to say, the name falling from his lips like a prayer. 

“Dean,” Castiel replies, suddenly next to Dean. He’s kneeling in the roses and the flowers no longer look like blood. For a moment Dean thinks they look almost like hope. 

“Cas.”    
  
“Hush, Dean,” Castiel says, running a rough, warm palm over Dean’s forehead. “It’s okay, I’m here, Dean. I love you. I’m sorry.” 

_ I’m sorry, I love you.  _

Dean gasps as air rushes back into his body, his lungs expanding greedily as his head clears for the first time in days. 

_ I love you. I’m sorry.  _

“I love you,” Dean says, staring up into blue eyes with wonder. “Fuck.” 

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, resting his forehead against Dean’s. “Dean.” 

“Cas,” Dean breathes. 

His lips crash into Dean’s. They’re warm and chapped and everything that Dean craves. Dean grabs at Castiel’s coat desperately, pulling his angel closer, never wanting to let go. 

Dean plans to kiss Castiel forever, but the sound of running feet interrupt him and he pulls away with a groan. 

“Dean,” Sam says breathlessly. “Dean, are you—” 

“Sammy,” Dean greets, surveying the living room for the first time. 

There are roses covering the floor and Castiel is still leaning heavily into Dean’s space, his face hovering near Dean’s, a guilty blush on his cheeks. Dean grimaces and sits up, the angel moving quickly to guide him. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Dean offers after a moment of silence. 

"So you aren't making out with some random dude in the living room surrounded by roses?" 

"Okay, so it's exactly what it looks like,” Dean shrugs helplessly. 

“Hello, Sam.” Castiel stands, reluctantly leaving Dean's side to offer his hand to Sam. “I am Castiel. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Castiel?” Sam asks, looking back and forth between Dean and Castiel. “The angel?” 

“No, Sam,” Dean snarks, rolling his eyes. “Clearly, this is Castiel the accountant. Of course, he’s the angel.” 

“It’s an honor,” Sam says, shaking Castiel’s hand. 

“Sam, he’s not really an accountant. You don’t need to flatter him.” 

Sam drops Castiel’s hand awkwardly and Dean laughs. Sam takes a moment to survey the room and frowns at the flowers in thought. 

“Dean? I never asked before, but when you—When you died there were flowers, roses. What’s going on?” 

For a second, a memory of a younger vulnerable Sam flashes through Dean’s mind and he has to resist the urge to gather his younger brother up into a hug. 

“I had Hanahaki, Sam,” Dean says like he wasn’t magically cured only minutes ago. “It’s gone now.” 

“Hanahaki,” Sam says with a frown. “Is that why Bobby had me find all those Japanese lore books? Dean, you were dying and you didn’t tell me?” 

“I was already dying, Sammy, it’s not like it was going to change anything,” Dean says, watching his brother pick up one of the roses. “Are you really going to stand there holding my vomit?” 

“Gross,” Sam says, dropping the rose like it’s on fire. “Jerk.”

“You’re gross, bitch.” 

Dean wants to keep talking with Sam, there’s been a disconnect between them since Dean came back, but he’s exhausted. He leans back into the couch with a sigh and doesn’t even think to hide his relief when Sam excuses himself to head back to bed. 

“Cas,” Dean says, noticing that the angel looks flighty. “Stay. Please.” 

“Okay,” Castiel says, looking grateful.

Dean gestures for Castiel to sit down on the couch and pillows his head in his angel’s lap. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean says, smiling softly at his love. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Dean,” Castiel replies with a soft smile, one clearly meant for Dean’s eyes only. 

“Good.” 

Falling asleep with his angel watching over him is a breath of fresh air.

**Author's Note:**

> You can join us on the [Profound Bond Discord!](https://discord.gg/CnN9aEA)


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